Closure
by SourCherryBlossom
Summary: After some period of time, we look in on Jonas at his Berlin apartment, as he brings in the mail. Set six months or so after 5.12. Speculative.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating Jonas Hollander's golden curls and the small kitchen table, which was still set with an empty plate and cup: a single man's breakfast, left there since morning. He hastily pushed these aside as he set down a brown-paper wrapped parcel which was piled high with his other mail. Plunking his heavy briefcase down next to the sideboard, he took off his blazer and threw it around the back of a kitchen chair. Jonas opened the fridge and inspected the contents, eventually selecting a Bitburger. The rest of the fridge was clean and stocked, but spare – the larder of a bachelor who cooked for himself thriftily.

He sat down at the table and began to sort through the mail. A letter from an alumni organization. A note from his professional legal association, letting him know that his yearly membership was nearly up. A flyer from a charitable organization, begging for money. His copy of _ADAC Motorwelt_. The usual stuff. But when he set the letters and magazine aside and looked at the return addressee on the package, he caught his breath.

 _Carrie Mathison_

 _5825 Apple Wood Ln._

 _Burke, VA 22015_

 _USA_

It had been last autumn when Carrie packed up and left Berlin, and flew back to the US, reuniting with Franny. He hadn't been home at the time – she hadn't even left a note when she'd removed all her belongings. He'd sent a text message to make sure she'd arrived safely, and heard only the briefest of replies in return: "I made it, we're safe." He'd called her sister's house a few times, trying feebly to ease the pain he was sure he'd caused. Her sister had intercepted both calls, cool but civil. "Carrie's busy," she'd said the first time. The second and last call had resulted in a more candid response.

"Jonas, she doesn't want to talk."

After that, he'd let it go. Probably for the best.

He'd gone back to work for the Düring Foundation, where Otto had kept him busy. When he remarked that he and Carrie had called it quits, Otto had eyed him briefly, and then made sympathetic noises. After a moment, he had asked, "And have you heard from her?"

"No," Jonas had answered honestly.

"Neither have I," said Otto, circumspect. They'd not spoken of it again.

Life resumed in the patterns that existed before Jonas met Carrie. He had gotten back into his old interests, watching football, playing darts at the pub, reading about and admiring fine automobiles. He'd tried a new haircut, close and short, and gone to a tanning parlor a few times. He'd even changed colognes, to try to feel he'd gone on to something new, become someone different. But after six months, he'd gone back to his old haircut, and reverted back to his old favorite aftershave. Something about Carrie had changed, at least that's how it seemed to him. She'd gone through… that mess. But he was still the same, he thought, once again picking up Davidoff "Cool Water" as he got ready for work in the morning. She'd come home different, after the strangeness with the BND. But remembering the nightmare of his son's kidnapping, and the bizarre behavior out in the cabin those few horrible days… well, maybe he hadn't known her at all.

Time had passed, and Jonas had put Carrie out of his mind. It had been briefly painful, mostly because he missed Franny. But he'd been able to move on, proud of his stiff upper lip and resilience. He had not expected to hear from her, perhaps ever again, so the package shocked him. Opening it, he pulled back tissue paper to reveal a sealed business-sized envelope on top, on which was written only, "Jonas".

His hands didn't tremble as they opened it. Well, maybe a little. He sat back in the kitchen chair, sipped his beer, and began to read.

* * *

 _Jonas,_

 _It has been a long time. I hope this package and letter find you well. Some time has passed, and I thought it would be good for me to write you a note, and let you know how we are. Also, I'd like to clear up a few things, and make a quiet end to our shared past. We did spend almost two years together, and the abrupt ending was strange and painful to me - and I think to you, too._

 _As you know, I moved back to the US. After the disaster that took place in Germany, I couldn't bear to return to government intelligence work, even though the offer was there. Otto wrote up a good letter of recommendation for me, so I ended up with a great job as a security consultant in the private sector. I am pretty happy with the work so far. It's all domestic, so it's safe. I have flexible hours, and that enables me to take Franny to preschool, and pick her up myself on most days. She's a very smart girl: you'd be pleased with how she's growing up. My sister has been a great support for me, as well as her husband and daughters. It has been great for Franny to be near her cousins, and they really enjoy each other._

 _I bought a condo, which has plenty of room for Franny and me. It has a small yard and is right next to a park. We take walks there in the evenings, and sometimes when I'm pushing Franny on the swings, I think back to our time together._

 _I have to say, it ended badly. I know that some of that is my fault. There were extenuating circumstances around way I behaved and the way we ended. Some of these things I could have controlled better. It didn't help that I went off my meds, and we had that terrible fight. And when Quinn was shot and you tried to help care for him, I'm sure it only topped off your feelings of distress, having just gotten Stefan back from the alleged kidnapping. I'm sure you were horribly worried, and for that I am sorry. The person who did it only did it to get access to me._

 _A lot went wrong. And I can see why you ended it. But the bottom line is, Jonas, you did the right thing. And I wanted to thank you for that._

 _You see, Peter Quinn was transferred back home to Bethesda last November. Nobody expected him to recover from the Sarin gas poisoning, or the TBI. But evidently, the terrorists were not very good chemists, and the one of them who dosed him with Atropine was a very good nurse. Because after a period of convalescence, he regained consciousness. By December, he was sitting up and talking. By January, he was out of the bed, and walking with leg braces and crutches. This March, he walked on his own, and now has almost 100% of his cognitive and physical function back._

 _That's why I bought this place in Burke – it's very convenient to the rehab center where Peter goes three times a week. A couple of weeks ago, he agreed to move in with me, and give us a try. I had to insist, because he didn't want to be a burden. He's a very proud and independent man, so I am glad he's willing to give it a chance._

 _You see, being with you, Jonas, and breaking up the way we did, it really turned the lights on for me. I tried to explain it to you while we were arguing. I think I said something like this: I couldn't believe that I had let you in, that I had allowed myself to be open to loving you, and being loved. The reason for that was clear, and became more clear when I visited Peter in the hospital. I finally understood what selfless love was, and knew who I really belonged with. I should have known all along. You were never that guy._

 _So, when I was cleaning out some boxes, getting space ready for Quinn to move in, I found this. I thought I'd send it back to you. I don't need it anymore._

 _I wish you the very best of luck._

 _Kind regards,_

 _Carrie_

* * *

Jonas dropped the letter, and reaching into the box, pulled out a bulky blue hoodie sweatshirt bearing the logo of his law school. He grabbed the beer, drained the bottle, and set it back down on the table with a clunk. Holding the shirt in his lap, he looked silently out the kitchen window at the street outside as the shadows grew longer and thinner in the fading light.


End file.
